


In from the Cold

by pterawaters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had been keeping himself and his daughter alive on his own for long enough that he didn't expect anyone living to cross their path – much less someone who was supposed to be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In from the Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sparkysparky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkysparky/gifts).



> For [sparkysparky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkysparky), because today is her birthday! Happy Birthday!
> 
> (Also for my teen wolf bingo card, because I figure two birds, one stone!)

The proximity alarm woke Stiles out of a light daze and he had his shotgun trained on the door and cocked before he was fully conscious. Paula stirred on the cot beside him, clutching her stuffed giraffe closer to her body, but she didn't wake. Eyes unblinking on the door, Stiles crept across the room to his computer and silenced the alarm, noting that it was the west sensor.

The trespasser was approaching from down the mountain, from the eroding trail. Stiles hoped to god it was another elk. He and Paula had already eaten most of the first one, and their supplies of everything except canned peaches was getting too low for Stiles' liking. If it wasn't an elk, if it was a stiff, Stiles would have to make a supply run soon. Maybe the stiffs had gotten the Jensens and their shit would be for the taking. 

Sucky thought, but necessary for survival.

After waiting for a moment to make sure the danger wasn't immediate, Stiles went to the window and scraped away a thin layer of frost. The area was covered in snow, just like it had been for the last three months and would be for three more months. Everything glittered white. 

Except for the dark figure trudging closer. It wore weather appropriate clothing – parka, scarf, gloves, hat, boots – which meant it probably wasn't a stiff. Stiles had been burned on that assumption before, though, so he shouldn't take his chances. 

Besides, even if the way it walked meant it probably wasn't a stiff, Stiles knew plenty of live people wouldn't think twice about killing him and Paula for the supplies they did have left. 

Speaking of supplies, the figure seemed to be dragging something behind it. Upon closer inspection, Stiles could see that it was a suitcase set inside a child's sled. 

What the fuck?

Twenty feet from the door, the figure pulled its scarf away from its face and Stiles' knees just about gave out on him. When he had control of his limbs again, he put his gun up, sighting the way his father taught him, and opened the door.

The figure looked up, meeting Stiles' eyes and gave him a weary smile.

"No," Stiles replied, steadying his gun with both hands. "No, you're not _him_. You're dead."

The figure shrugged as he dropped the sled's rope. "I got better?"

Stiles lowered his shotgun and asked, "Derek, did you just quote Monty Python at me?"

"Can I come in? It's freezing up here."

Stiles stalled for a moment. Hey, if the end of the world wasn't a good time to get things off your chest, when was? "The last time I saw you, you fucking blew yourself up, you asshole! How could you do that to me?"

Frowning so hard his nostrils flared, Derek said, "You and Paula are still alive, you made it here, so getting a little blown up was worth it."

"A _little_ blown up? Oh, my god! I'm never forgiving you for that!"

"Don't I get any points for making it here? Stiles, I've been walking through the snow for a week and–"

Stiles dropped his gun into the snow and surged forward, grabbing Derek in a tight hug. The tears on his face turned to ice, but he didn't care. Derek's arms wrapped around him, pressing the snow on his coat into Stiles' clothes and taking his breath away. "I was right," Stiles murmured.

"About what?"

"About the cold," Stiles replied, pulling back to give Derek a wry grin. "The stiffs freeze solid. They don't make their own body heat and without heat, their muscles don't work. I haven't seen one moving faster than molasses in January since we got up here!"

"Well, I'm glad you were right, but can I go inside now? I think I'm getting frostbite on my toes."

Stiles noticed the upward climb of what he liked to refer to as Derek's "sassy eyebrow" and he couldn't help but laugh. "C'mon in. I'll make you some hot cocoa."

Derek nodded, but Stiles saw the way he hid his grin by ducking to grab the sled's rope. Stiles was so going to kiss the hell out of that grin as soon as Derek got inside, Paula's state of consciousness be damned.


End file.
